Havana, Cuba

In Santa Clara, a woman creates a shrine in her dead husband’s bedroom. His belongings and her favorite dress are carefully displayed around the room. On the bed lies his photograph next to a framed picture of Jesus Christ.

In Cuba nothing is ever quite as it seems, and religion is no exception. At first glance, Catholicism seems to reign supreme. The signs are all there; you can’t walk three steps without encountering Our lady of Mercy, Saint Anthony or Our Lady of Charity;  the Pope himself visited in 1996 and every small town is centered around a church. 

Yet scratch the surface and it’s not Our Lady of Mercy thats smiles through the grime, but Obatala the Creator. 

Santeria, or Regla de Ocha, is the main religion practiced in Cuba today.  Dating from the early 16th century, when the slaves hid their true African beliefs behind the safety of the Catholic veil, it is essentially a combination of the religious practices of African slaves and Catholic iconography.

Catholic saints are associated with Orishas: the Santeria gods or ancestral spirits. If the Saints glorify an unobtainable perfection; the Orishas represent human frailty and weakness, a form of guilt-free accessibility the sinners in the confessional can only dream of.

Each Orisha is associated with a colour. Thus the mighty Obatala is pure white. Neustra Senora de la Merced, goddess of the underworld, mother of all Orishas is a subterranean blue. Each colour represents different qualities of the earth and followers align themselves with colours according to a priests readings. Witchdoctor Calidad wears a rainbow of colours to represent a connection with all the elements. She believes her immersion in the spirit world helps her in her quest to cure patients with ancient knowledge and natural medicines. 

Voodoo plays a minor role in Santeria. On this earth the various Orishas have morphed into dolls, which are displayed by their owners to please the spirits. Such shrines are often prominent features in Cuban homes.

Made legendary in the West by Ry Cooder’s soulful documentary Buena Vista Social Club, Ibrahim Ferrer’s lace draped shrine to the Santeria gods is typical. Ferrer fed his gods rum and perfume to ensure they remained benevolent. If the gods are not kept happy, the Cuban misery maker can project bad luck and possible illness.

Those fearing impending sickness call on the services of their local Babalou (priest). These revered men are consulted for advice, for protection and when ill health threatens. The Babalou then consult’s the gods by way of stones draped in colourful beaded necklaces, which are placed in shrines and believed to be powerful. According to the Santero, these stones harbour the spirits of the Orishas, and spirits are as hungry as their mortal subjects. They need to be fed with food, herbs and even a drop of rum. During important ceremonies animal sacrifices are made, seasoning the dancing, singing and trances with blood.

The way of the Babalou is not open to your average Cuban man in the street. White clothing signals the aspiring Babalou’s commitment to serving the gods of Santeria, and must be worn to cleanse evil sins for one full year before initiation. The chosen few then partake in further ritual ceremonies. These might include being whipped by initiated Babalous as punishment for past sins and preparation for the hard path that is to come. New Babalous are showered with the coveted American dollar- but only after the greenbacks have had a good wash to rid them of negative connotations.

Cuban culture is saturated with Santeria and it’s widely believed that even Fidel Castro himself is not immune to the hold of the Orishas. Some believe Castro, a practicing Santero, to be the Son of Elegua-the god of destiny. As the ageing dictator rides out the last years of his regime, which must ultimately crumble when Castro’s bones turn to dust, will Elegua intercede to save his son and the impossible dream he had for Cuba?

‘Santeria De Cuba’, text by Lisa Wade (As published in Oyster magazine)

Porto

Porto, Portugal.

Marrakesh

Marrakesh, Morocco.

Lisbon

Lisbon, Portugal

Tiwi Islands, NT, Australia

For six months I used Darwin as a base to ventured into the outback and beyond to discover the Aboriginal culture. At the beginning I knew very little about the Aboriginals, being raised and educated in Sydney’s Northern beaches it was as if the aboriginals were only a part of Australia’s history, not present nor future.

Not until traveling to so many other cultures around the world, did my appreciation and interest in the Aboriginal culture begin.

Being a white woman entering an aboriginal community who have no idea who the intruder is, is a stupid but interesting prospect. Not stupid in the way of dangerous, I always felt safe, but stupid in the way of ignorance and disrespect for another’s culture. It has always been the way between the tribes, asking permission of the elders to step onto another’s land. My first experience on the Tiwi Islands North Australia was exactly that ignorant and disrespectful. I had no idea that the elders must grant permission before I entered. A woman told me Walter Pilakua, the main landowner of the Nguiu community, had summonsed me as I was in disgrace.

After our meeting all was mended and I was given permission to enter and photograph his land. Since then, I have made many friends on the Tiwi’s  and have been invited to returned 4 times, going bush with the Tiwi’s; hunting Buffalo, Kangaroo, mangrove worms and crabs, turtles and turtle eggs. I was taken under the wing of a beautiful old woman named Jacinta, who calls me her daughter, and was invited to be a part of their everyday life. My favorite day is Sundays, when I go mangrove hunting with the women.

The more time I spend with the aboriginals the more I want to watch and learn, the way they do things is fascinating to me. It is through their simplicity of pleasures, though complication of tradition I have based this body of work. All of my images lie still but with so much thought and meaning. Just as the aboriginals communicate, with few words, just a slight gesture of the mouth to point, or a raising of an eyebrow to imply surprise. Everything is slow, quiet and graceful, but at the same time intriguing, moody and deep. I hope my images are just that. To me this is a work in progress;  we have many more Sundays to share.

Dili, East Timor

"Some of these people have trainers, like horse trainers to train their roosters," my guide continues. "They put the roosters on a string that's tied between two trees, and leave them there all night. The birds learn to balance on the string as it rocks between the trees, and build up their muscles."

The cock owners remove blade covers from their birds' hind legs, revealing lethal, hook-shaped blades. They hold the fighters firmly around the chest, bouncing each bird almost ritualistically, rhythmically towards the other.

"They want to fire them up, get them nasty," my cultural advisor whispers.

A good win means more than a month's salary in Timor. A loss could mean the family loses a month's worth of meals. In one village outside Baucau, the women have banned cockfighting because of related gambling losses.

Sydney Wooden Boats

Wooden Boat Magazine article.

Los Angeles, California, U.S.A.

L.A. Garbage Series.

London, U.K.

I saw Savory waiting for a bus in Kilburn, London. All I could see was this amazing hair. I later learnt that this bus route was the only one familiar to Savory. In fact, to shop for food for the week was the only time Savory would venture out of the housing estate in which he lived. I asked to take photographs of him and was invited back to his flat which gave me the opportunity to allow me an insight into his lonely world.

Savory had moved from his homeland of Jamaica to seek the opportunities in London. It’s amazing how lonely one can be surrounded by a city full of people. After 30 years spent in his new found home he has found no family, no friends, and absolutely no one he relates to.

His home was immaculate. A coffee table as if on display was carefully laid out with an assortment of possessions. There were packets of aspirin all in a row, coins stacked separately in denomination order, cigarettes all in a neat pile. The table was full but everything had an exact place.

I spent the rest of the afternoon with Savory, taking photographs and chatting to him about the beautiful Caribbean in which I had also spent some time, and the family and friends we both missed so much.

Savory was almost unaware of the camera, continuing to talk to me as I repositioned the lights and shifted this and that. I much prefer shooting in this way, observing a persons mannerisms. I find it much more comfortable for myself and the subject than conducting a person to perform unnaturally. I get more of the pure person.

Savory enjoyed his day in my company. He had so much to say. I wanted to keep in contact with him, but life always seems to get busy. I guess that’s why Savory will always remain lonely.

As published in ‘Stu Magazine’.